


Softly and sweetly, like a kiss or a knife at your throat

by giurochedadomani



Category: Trust (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternative title (2): Will Someone Just Tell Him For Once That He’s Done A Good Job, Alternative title: I’d Follow Him To Hell And Back But I’d Prefer If He Stopped Going There, I'll let him watch my back ;D, Leonardo Does Not Get Paid Enough For This, M/M, Primo Doesn’t Know How To Flirt, Primo: Now if Salvatore wants us to get lost in the Aspromonte for a couple of days, Salvatore: I don’t trust that my nephew won’t fuck this up Leonardo, Semi Public Sex, The Mob, This fic can best be summed up as, Who am I to say no, and, of course Leonardo can come uncle, with absolutely no oversight, you must stick close to him, ‘Tis but my humble offering to the pile of fics of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:47:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29846559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giurochedadomani/pseuds/giurochedadomani
Summary: “Salvatore was going to be mad about it— either way”, Primo mumbles, because he seems quite as physically incapable of letting it the fuck go as he’s from keeping still. It’s expected, but sad, that he finds solace in convincing himself that he’s above what Salvatore thinks.“So what, you wanted to impress me?”, Leonardo asks, fully expecting Primo to take the bait to taunt him and stopping in his tracks when Primo.Hesitates.--Primo doesn’t need anyone’s approval and doesn’t care about anyone’s opinion (but it’d be nice, totally impossible but also really nice, if…)
Relationships: Leonardo/Primo Nizzuto
Comments: 5
Kudos: 30





	Softly and sweetly, like a kiss or a knife at your throat

“I don’t even know why you are so pressed about it. You really think that Salvatore would even _care_? I don’t exist unless it’s convenient. I just don’t. And you? I’m pretty sure you could shoot a man point blank in front of his fucking face and he’d still make you a suitable excuse. Don’t you see? You’re _trustworthy_ ”. 

* * *

The Napolitalian summer heat burns in the night like Leonardo’s black mood. 

“That’s the most stupid thing I’ve seen you do in my entire life”. Primo scoffs, derisive. “By far! You could have fucked it all to the ground, you know? You could have gotten yourself killed! You could have gotten _us both_ killed!”. A beat. “Are you even listening?”. He aims to grab Primo’s shoulder and shake it, but Primo shoves him away. 

Oh. Oh. _That’s fucking rich._

“I’ve just gotten you out of the direction of Allegri’s fucking rifle!” 

“You’re being _so_ dramatic”, Primo grunts, trying to demonstratively ignore him as he continues cleaning up the cut on his nose over the sink of the bar’s bathroom and not quite achieving it. “Congratulations! Is that what you want to hear?”

A _thanks_ would be nice. An _oh, Leonardo, you were right_ . An _oh my God, I was an idiot._ A little bit of something. 

“Good Lord, Primo”, he all but groans. “You see why Salvatore sent me?”, the words are out of his mouth before he thinks them through, and once he’s said them, well. He’s said them. He sees the hurt pass through Primo’s face before he schools his features into a carefully blank façade. _He’ll poison himself, if he keeps on biting his tongue._ Leonardo sighs, and adds, still mad, but a touch softer: “Then you’ll go and keep on complaining”. 

There’s a bruise darkening over Primo’s temple. Now that he’s paying attention, Leonardo sees Primo’s hand tremble a little, how he takes a breath as if brazing himself every time he wipes away the blood. He counts to ten and doesn’t even get through half of it before he’s grabbing Primo’s hand.

“I swear to God”, he curses, clutching Primo’s hand when he tries to shove him away again. “For my peace of mind”. 

Primo stares at him and glares and makes a whole show of rolling his eyes, huffing and throwing out the paper towel he had been using as a wipe, all while Leonardo grabs another paper towel, damps it, and wrings it a little, completely ignoring his antics. There’s a trickle of blood at the side of Primo’s nose. He starts there. Leonardo can tell Primo’s fighting not to cross his arms when he rests his hands on the side of the other bathroom’s sink. 

“Salvatore wanted to win more money, and now he’s winning more money”, Primo says after a while, breaking the room’s tense silence. He sounds defensive. Self-justifying. It makes Leonardo feel so tired. “My idea worked. You can stop fussing about it now”.

_This dumb kid, and his stupid ideas, and the suicidal extremes he can reach to prove himself—_ He tips Primo’s head slightly to the side before answering: “What Salvatore wanted was to pay less for the cigarettes”. 

“He’ll be paying less for the cigarettes now”, Primo insists. 

“You’ve single handedly gotten rid of our agreement with the Allegri family—”. 

Primo’s tone is clipped when he answers: “They were skimming us off”. A beat. “You know it”.

“—That means we’ve lost our means of bringing the cigarettes back from Naples from now on”, Leonardo continues explaining, levelled. “Which means finding new drivers, and more cars, and a suitable new place to keep the cigarettes. Which means—”. 

“It’s still less expensive in the long run”, Primo cuts him. He crunches his nose when Leonardo passes the towel over his upper lip. “And we get to control the whole process”. 

The movements are easy, practiced, Leonardo focuses on the monotony of them rather than on how many times he has found himself in a similar situation, trying to reason with Primo as he patches him up. He rumples the towel, grabs another one, and damps it, all while he observes the other from the corner of his eye. He takes a breath, brazing himself for the expected outburst when he says: “You know Salvatore is not going to see it that way”. 

Automatically, Primo goes stiff. And then instead of exploding, he bottles it up, bites down whatever scathing answer was brewing in his lips and suggests, deliberately casual: “You can say it was my idea. That you tried to stop me”. 

Pretending to be above everything, untouched and unaffected, didn’t work at all when Primo was fifteen. Leonardo hates so much that he’s still doing that now that he’s twice that age.

“And why would I do that”. _I’m not your enemy_ , he’d say, if Primo was any likely to listen. Primo shrugs, a little. It’s kind of awkward, given that Leonardo’s tipping his chin up to clean the cut. “You’re right. We’ll get more money in the end”. 

Leonardo follows a trickle of blood down Primo’s throat as the other seems to ponder his words, unsure perhaps if he ought to take them as a concession. Primo’s got the first couple of buttons of his shirt undone, his jewellery gleaming a little over his collarbone under the bathroom lamps’ light. He looks dishevelled, hotter than he has any right to be in a way that just keeps adding to Leonardo’s headache. 

“Salvatore was going to be mad about it— either way”, Primo mumbles, because he seems quite as physically incapable of letting it the fuck go as he’s from keeping still. It’s expected, but sad, that he finds solace in convincing himself that he’s above what Salvatore thinks. 

“So what, you wanted to impress me?”, Leonardo asks, fully expecting Primo to take the bait to taunt him and stopping in his tracks when Primo. 

Hesitates. 

“Oh God”, Leonardo says, anger evaporating, incredulity letting pass to bafflement as he sees Primo’s momentary shock part into a sneer. “Sweet Lord. _Holy Virgin Mary_ ”.

“You fucking wish”, Primo counters in the exact same time, disdainful in a way that doesn’t particulary manage to deny it, or to stop Leonardo from reframing the last couple of days through that perspective. Primo’s unexpected compliance to be supervised during the errand. His cocky demeanor during the negotiation. The constant banter. “As if I’d waste my time in— As if I’d steep low enough for—”, he keeps getting more vicious with each attempt to reply. “You fucking wish you were important enough for me to even consider. Holy hell, who _the fuck_ do you think you—?”

He blocks Primo when he tries to push him away, his hand landing on his chest to get him against the wall instead of against the sink.

“I’d have said yes, if you bothered to just ask”, he interjects. It’s as if he’s just discovered the explanation to a natural phenomenon, the evidence behind a magician’s trick: now that he knows where to look, it’s all so painfully obvious. 

“...”, Primo’s mouth hangs open, his biting remark lost. His astonished expression would be hilarious, if he was the sort of person one could laugh at, eyes comically wide until his brain catches on, and he frowns. 

He looks at Leonardo with that unnerving intensity of his, his eyes searching— something. Leonardo tries to think in what exactly has made Primo come up with the unparalled stupid conclussion that what was stopping him from taking him up on his flirting was Salvatore not giving him any _cool_ errand, instead of things like. His impulsivity. Or the fact that he takes everything and then some as a personal slight. Things like how he’s _married_ , or how Primo, regardless of his relationship with Salvatore, is still his _boss’ nephew_ and you sort of, kind of, are expected to pay some modicum of respect to that— 

“...Yes to what”. 

—A little myriad of details that shout that it’s a _bad idea_ , and that anyway don’t prevent Leonardo from gradually taking his hand up before he fully realizes that he’s doing it until he’s grabbing Primo under his throat, gently. _Damn it all, but especially damn him_. 

He shrugs. 

“You tell me, you’re the guy with the plan”.

A familiar kind of mania grips on him, the one who mutters at the back of his mind _what’s stopping you_ with a hearty mix of _who’s gonna find out about it anyway_. Primo’s way too clever to tell on them, regardless of Salvatore’s opinion on him. And he really, really wants to know what he expected. How he had pictured it playing out, exactly, the whole thing with Leonardo being _impressed_. Did he have an actual plan, or did he act on impulse and hope for the best. Had he entertained the possibility of thinking things through for once.

He can feel the ghost of Primo’s breath on his wrist, the weight of his look when he drops his eyes to his lips and then back up. He looks flushed, but also a step away from angry, as if he thinks that Leonardo is _mocking_ him, of all things. 

“Come on”, he insists. “You wanted me to pay attention during the meeting. Then, what”. 

It’d be easy, so very easy to do it now. To cup the back of his neck, and bring him down, and kiss him. To ask him how someone so brilliant can be such a fucking idiot, and tell him that he doesn’t need to arrive at such suicidal heights for attention. It’s not as if they have anyone waiting on them outside the bar. The possibilities of anything suspicious reaching back the village are abysmally small. _If Primo had simply suggested—_

Primo brings an arm abruptly across his back, a hand clutching at his jacket, keeping him in place, as if he thought that Leonardo was about to pull back instead of changing his position slightly so he’s more holding him than grabbing him. Leonardo tries not to smile at that. Further than that, Primo doesn’t seem to have a clear course of action in mind, gaze dropping again to Leonardo’s lips, and then lower, to his arm, as if he’s not sure how much he’s allowed to do, if anything, which is frankly bewildering for a guy who Leonardo has seen time and time again instantly coming up with countless different backup plans as he stares down the barrel of a gun with infinite boredom. 

Leonardo tilts his head and, very slowly, kisses him, a little peck on his lips that Primo receives without moving a muscle. And there’s no rumbling thunder, no parting of skies, not a sound but Primo’s breath catching and the titillating of the bathroom’s lamp. He kisses him again, softly, revelling on it when Primo doesn’t lash out. Bites the tip of his tongue as he really, really tries not to smile when he sees that Primo’s first proper reaction is to close his eyes. He kisses him once again, fixing his hand so he’s cupping his cheek, which finally, finally, manages to make Primo start relaxing a little. 

“What did you think it was going to happen?”, Leonardo mutters, his thumb stroking Primo’s jawline, right under the bruise on his cheekbone. He’s got color high on his cheeks, skin warm to the touch. 

Primo makes a non committal sound, huffing frustrated when Leonardo tilts his head back just the slightest bit enough so he’s out of reach, which Leonardo shouldn’t find as endearing as he does. He lets Primo pull him back into a proper kiss for a moment, lets him settle his hands experimentally on his lower back, then at his waist, touch feather light that progressively gets more confident, and then he breaks the kiss off just as Primo tries to deepen it.

The force of Primo’s glare makes him snort, especially given how he doesn’t make a single move to push him away, instead letting his head fall back against the wall with a little thud. 

It could have worked, in a way, he supposes. If things had played out a little differently during the meeting. If he was any other person, if he would take Salvatore’s thoughts on Primo half as seriously as the rest of the men who surround him. He sees the other opening his mouth, then closing it, all while looking at him, wary, and then away, and it makes him kind of sad to spot the strategy. 

Primo frowns, suddenly. And then he pushes Leonardo away, grabs his arm, and pulls him into one of the stalls before he can get a proper word out. 

“What the—?”, he tries, and Primo glares and covers his mouth with his hand. 

—At that moment, the bathroom’s door opens. 

“...Filthy, little rats. That’s what they are. Behaving as if they own the fucking place”. 

A chill goes down Leonardo’s back at the sound of Giulio Allegri’s voice. It must be showing on his face, because Primo does a big show of rolling his eyes, all but saying _what did you expect_. 

“You know how these things roll”, continues another voice. Allegri’s goon. Alfredo? Alberto? Leonardo was way too busy doing damage control during the meeting to pay attention. “Nizzuto must behave as if he’s the king of his little village. They don’t feel as if they’ve got to answer to anyone who isn’t him”. 

Leonardo licks Primo’s hand, petty in a way that he finds difficult to be with anyone else, and that anyway doesn’t even compare to Primo’s level of childishness when he makes a gagging face as he takes his hand away. Leonardo blinks, putting on his most unimpressed façade, which he supposes would be much more effective if his eyes wouldn’t drop to Primo’s lips. _Bad idea_ , his brain says. 

“Well, they ought to know their fucking place. This isn’t the mountains. And they’re not the only option”. Primo cleans his hand on his chest, provocative, the kind of glint in his eyes that Leonardo has learned to be wary of and want. _Very bad idea_. His heart beats hard at the sound of Allegri adding: “They are not going to keep being an option altogether if they continue negotiating like that”.

He’s fairly sure they could take them, if it came to it. It would be a bloody thing, a well rounded mess, and he should be far more worried about it being a possibility, given that he’s just spent most of the night trying to avoid it. But yet again Primo’s kissing him, softly, a peck on his lips that he doesn’t find in himself the strength to shy away from. Primo kisses him again, a little smile on his lips when Leonardo puts his hands on the other’s hips, almost as an afterthought. _Hell, he probably thinks it’s funny._

“Perhaps it’s what he wanted?” 

“Nizzuto?”

“He used to send his brother, when he was feeling less… charitable”. 

Primo stops on his tracks, a dark cloud passing over his face. Leonardo tilts his head a little and kisses him, properly, before the words have enough time to settle on his brain.

“Well, I’m telling you, if I see his fucking nephew again, I’m putting a bullet in his brain and shipping his head back. See if Nizzuto is so prone to send fucking messages after that”. It’s doing something to Leonardo, getting him hard in the worst possible moment, and fuck if he could explain if it’s more because of the possibility of being caught, or more because Primo’s rolling his hips against him. He’s slotting against him as if he belongs there, kissing him like he’s starving, a hand clutching at his shirt, on his chest, the other landing on the stall’s wall with a little thud— _Landing on the stall’s wall with a little thud._ “What was that?” 

They break away instantly, Leonardo grabbing Primo’s arm with an iron grip. 

He can feel his heart on his throat. 

“What was what?” 

“Didn’t you hear—?”, Allegri trails off, unsure. Leonardo pictures him looking at the stalls, hand approaching the door, and he can’t breath. He feels Primo’s breath against his neck, the loudest thing in the room, in the whole bar, and they’re going to get caught. They’re going to get caught and _he knew it was a bad idea._

“The lamp’s all fucked up”. 

...

“Ah”. 

“I told Alfredo a hundred times. Says he doesn’t have the money to buy another one, the stingy little bitch. Wants to make us pay, probably”. Giulio huffs. Leonardo thinks _he’s Alberto, then_ , as if it mattered at all, and forces himself to open his hand around Primo’s arm. Primo takes it away from the wall very, very slowly. “Let’s go, if not the next thing you’re going to get to deal with it’s going to be my stomach rumbling. I’m starving”. 

Leonardo waits one, two, three seconds after he hears the door closing and he’s pushing Primo away, backing him up against the other wall of the stall, grumbling “ _y_ _ou’re a fucking menace_ ”, in a way that isn’t a compliment but that doesn’t stop Primo from taking it as such, regardless, a big grin parting his lips that Leonardo promptly searches to erase with his lips. 

Leonardo lets his hands wander over Primo’s big shoulders, his sides, his hips. He grabs his ass when Primo arches against him, bubbling with vindictive triumph for some fucking reason at the feeling of Primo’s hard on against him. He palms him over his jeans, reveling on Primo’s little moan that he clearly tries to stiffen. “That what you got in mind?”

“I— Just, let me…”, he palms Leonardo’s erection, too, paws at his belt, and he’s not being subtle at all, impatient and far less in control than his usual self, hands trembling a little even if he makes a short work of his belt, and Leonardo wants to laugh, wants to tell him with amusement and a great deal of frustration that they’re definitely not fucking on a bathroom stall, _a problem which they wouldn’t be having if Primo had simply bothered to tell him—_

“No, _you_ let me”, he tells him, instead, petty. He pulls them both out, pulling Primo’s troublesome tight jeans mid thigh down with Primo’s help. He kisses Primo throughfully, takes his hands, which the other doesn’t seem very sure where to put, and puts them on his shoulders, then takes them both in hand. “This good?”

“Come on”. Primo’s hands clutch at his back. “Come on, _come on_ ”, he urges him on, rolling his hips against Leonardo when he starts moving his hand in earnest in a way that makes Leonardo take a shuddering breath. 

There’s something base that burns hot in Leonardo’s gut at having this kind of power over Primo. How for all his sharpness, the other can’t help but get all soft and pliant against him. How he keeps everyone at an arm’s length on the usual, yet licks into his mouth with desperation. The little moans and whines he can’t avoid making even if he tries. Leonardo tries to think in why kissing Primo senseless has seemed like such a bad idea for such a long time, and _he looks so fucking_ _hot when he comes_ , head tipped back, mouth parted. Leonardo can’t help but thinking _I made him go like this_ , an arm around Primo’s hips so he doesn’t enterily buckle, feeling so fucking satisfied. 

Primo finishes him off with deft fingers, a hand at the back of his neck, and _they’ve made a mess_ and Leonardo can’t find in his body the will to care.

A little later, Leonardo tries to clean a stain he hopelessly expects not to be cum when he tells Primo: “You found out about Allegri’s plans.You told me about them _diligently_ ”, he highlights, because he knows it’ll make Primo laugh. Except it doesn’t, doesn’t even make him snort. Primo keeps cleaning his face while not looking at him, “...and I confronted him. Sadly, he didn’t see reason”. 

“That’s all what happened?” 

“As far as Salvatore’s concerned”, he specifies, frowning a little when that makes Primo throw him a surprised look. _What’s that supposed to mean?_ “Anything I’m forgetting?” 

Primo works his jaw, as if he’s trying to get his bearings back, passes a hand through his hair. After a moment, he asks: “...But I thought my ideas were very stupid?”, trying to sound offhand and missing by a mile.

What’s stupid it’s very specifically the rush of fondness Leonardo feels when he hears that.

“Pissing Allegri off was stupid. Ignoring Salvatore’s potential reaction was stupid. Doing all of it without even bothering to tell me was definitely stupid”, he points out, slowly. “I haven’t said anything about the rest of your ideas”. Primo’s smiling, and Leonardo wants to kiss his little grin out. He makes a vague sign towards the door. “Let’s go before they come back”.

**Author's Note:**

> [This is my tumblr](https://giurochedadomani.tumblr.com/), come say hi!


End file.
